


Pirates: The Golden Masque

by LadySparrow01



Series: Pirates [2]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Golden Age of Piracy, Historical References, Mermaids, Pre-Curse of the Black Pearl, Prequel, Sea Shanties, developing feelings, disaster bi heroin, friendship shenanigans, mutual pining for the sea, rebellious captain's daughter, references to the Price of Freedom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29053683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySparrow01/pseuds/LadySparrow01
Summary: 'Jack was no longer a distant memory or a fleeting possibility. He was solidly in her arms, squeezing her tight as she clung to him. "Its so good to see you, Jack." She managed, every word heavy with the full force of her affection.'Months after their adventure in Tortuga, Emera and Jack are finally reunited in Nassau. The path to finding the Mermaid's Gem is steadily growing clearer. But more than just stormy seas block their way now. Emera and Jack must face the perils of polite society and pirate politics as their quest leads them into the event of the summer: The Duchess of Georgetown's Midsummer Ball. Danger seems to be creeping up from behind every corner as swashbucklers and socialites are thrown together. And with the taste of freedom strong on her lips, there is little Emera wouldn't do for more.The second in a prequel series set before 'Curse of the Black Pearl'.
Relationships: Anamaria/Jack Sparrow, Jack Sparrow/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Pirates [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704682
Kudos: 1





	1. Land Ho!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there. If at any point during this story you decide it's just not for you, would you please consider leaving a constructive comment on why it is you chose not to continue reading? I am always looking to improve my work and appreciate feedback that I can build from. Thank you so much. And I hope you enjoy.
> 
> This work is also Published on Fanfiction.net

The lower deck was cramped, the crew there packed elbow to elbow in the small space. Their boisterous chatter was enough to nearly drown out the deep, wooden groaning of the ship as they played some kind of game with cards that was governed by a complicated set of rules that sounded half made up. Emera Flint sat a little apart, knees to her chest, trying to listen to the sound of the ship. Impatience made the underside of her fingernails itch. While working, she had been able to ignore just how eager she was to finally get back home. But now, she no longer had that luxury.

The air was stifling, muggy and stinking of sweat and bilge and pine tar. Despite the lanterns, it was so dim that the curved walls of the ship seemed to be pressing in on all sides. Emera ran a restless hand through her coppery hair. It had grown these past months. Now, there was enough that it fell into her eyes, curling behind her ears and down the nape of her neck. But there was not yet enough for it to be tied back. It drove her crazy. She pushed it away from her face again and shut her eyes tight against the sudden roaring cheers of the gaming crew. Agitation crawled up the back of her spine until she could no longer stand it. She got to her feet and made for the hatch, practically having to step over crewmen in her haste to get out.

Emera scrambled up to the main deck where the mid afternoon sun poured off the crisp, white sails in a radiant bath of warm light. Above, the endless Caribbean sky was a soft crystal blue blanket that bled into the dazzle of the sea. Emera gripped the gunnel rail, looking out over the side of the ship as it cut along the open water. The sharp tang of salted wind ran warm fingers through her hair, turning it a pleasant kind of unruly. She closed her eyes as it whipped about her face and drank back greedy lung-fulls of fresh, clean air.

All around her, the top deck buzzed with its usual activity. The crew tended to their duties with diligence, but there was an aspect of cheerfulness that clung to them as they worked. Emera looked up into the ratlines, blocking the sun with one hand, and watched as the crew there tended to the taught sails so that not a single drop of wind would be lost. She could easily make out Lewis Perhson's familiar figure as he tied off a line. And though she couldn't see his face, she knew he was hating every moment of being aloft. He was a man who was happiest with his feet planted firmly on a solid deck. Emera watched him as he apprehensively climbed down the ratlines, waving a little when he finally saw her.

"If there was climbing to be done, I should've been the one to go." She told him as he came to join her.

He shrugged a little, smiling in a falsely easy going way that didn't become his usually honest face, "I don't mind."

"Liar." She accused, crossing her arms as she turned back to look out at the sea.

Lewis stood close beside to her, leaning his elbows on the gunnel rail, and said in a soft voice, "What could I have done, huh? I was told to go up. So up I went."

"You're a carpenter's mate." Emera grumbled, glaring out at the ocean, "You don't belong aloft. I do."

Lewis sighed and straightened. At his full height, he towered over her by at least a foot. Emera had to look up in order to see the broad angles of his face. His fair hair, so blond it was nearly white, had grown long enough to be plaited. He also wore a healthy beard now, that made him look older than he really was. Emera hated it. And for that reason alone he had elected to keep it until they reached the shores of Clearwater Bay. She frowned at him and his false smile and his beard, knowing full well that her foul mood wasn't in anyway his fault.

She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck with one hand, "I'm sorry, Lewis. I should be better."

"I'll say." He agreed, his Baltic Sea accent colouring his words nicely, but this time when he smiled it was genuine, "Remind me never to sail with you or your father when the two of you are fighting."

"We're not fighting." Emera snapt instinctually, then said more gently, "We're well past that."

Her maiden voyage as a member of her father's crew had gone from bad to worse. Tortuga had been just the beginning of Emera's troubles. The unsanctioned sailing trip she had gone on in the dead of night had awoken a deep thirst for adventure where before there had only been a longing. And with Anamaria Mercier along as an accomplice, each port _The Rose_ put in at became a field of opportunity. The surprising thing had been just how utterly unstoppable the two were as a team. Captain 'Bloody' John Flint, Emera's father, had been practically powerless against their combined enthusiasm and cunning. Leogane was little more than one big plaything the whole of the week they were there. And Port Royal had only been worse.

Emera shut her eyes tight, bighting the inside of her lip against the swell of emotions in her chest. She had loved every moment, every wild escapade, so much that it hurt. But Anamaria was long gone now. Port Royal had always been her destination. She had a life there, with her mother and sisters, full of a job and responsibilities she couldn't walk away from. It was something Emera had understood from even before they decided to sail together, but that didn't mean it made their goodbye any easier. Standing on the docks, knowing she had been about to sail away from Anamaria forever, had reminded them both sharply of another, similar, goodbye not that long ago. Just thinking about it caused Emera's throat to go tight.

"Your father can't keep you suspended from your duties forever." Lewis pointed out, trying to be helpful.

"Oh, but he fully intends to do just that." She told him without meeting his gaze, "Haven't you heard? I'm through on _The Rose_."

Lewis leaned down at an angle so she would have to look into his devastated brown eyes, "You don't mean that. You're exaggerating."

"No." She shook her head, twisting her silver and blue coin pendant between her fingers, "No, I'm not. He told me this morning. I'm done."

"What? What will you do?" Lewis spluttered, "Just... stay on the island forever?"

Emera had to resist the urge to rest her hand over the pocket of her dark blue waistcoat just to feel the reassuring crinkle of the note she had stashed there. She had carried it with her ever since it had come into her keeping a week ago. The battered and smudged paper was a promise waiting to be fulfilled. She only hoped she wouldn't be too late.

"I'll think of something." She told Lewis, a sliver of optimism in her voice, "Don't worry."

He thought about this for a moment, gripping the rail so tight that his knuckles went bone white, then he sighed resignedly and said, "But what about me? What will I do?"

"I've no idea." Emera teased, smiling up at him, "But you're sort of clever. You'll think of something eventually."

Lewis was untouched by the joke. He only stared at her with the weight of concern in his eyes as he reached out and squeezed her shoulder. The moment his hand touched her arm a wolf-whistle ripped through the air with whoops and jeers on its heels. As one entity Emera and Lewis flew apart and turned on their crewmates with a flurry of unintelligible insults and rebuttals. The scrap rose to a din of voices all shouting over one another until a sharp, piercing whistle cut through the wall of noise. Emmett Hold, Quartermaster and ship's cook, stood on the steps to the quarterdeck with his fingers in his mouth should a second call to attention be needed. But the crew fell silent at once.

"Back to work, you ravenous pups!" He barked out in his sharp, gruff voice.

Then he pointed at Emera and signaled for her to join him on the steps. She managed a quick glance at Lewis as she passed him, feeling for all the world like a child about to be reprimanded for the second time that day. Emmett crossed his arms as he waited. The stern look on his lined face didn't suit him any more than Lewis' false smile had. Emera wished it didn't have to be like this. But even so, if given the chance, she would have relived her weeks with Anamaria over and over again without a second thought.

"Causing trouble?" Emmett asked so only she could hear.

"Apparently." Emera replied more sharply than she probably should have.

He raised his grizzled eyebrows, but there was no anger in his voice when he said, "Best you be watchin' yourself, then. Its not too late to toss you in the hold."

"I'd almost rather that than this... uselessness." She told him, "I'm all but a passenger."

"Mayhaps you ought to have thought on that afore you ran amok." He said pointedly.

Emera had to resist the deep rooted urge to roll her eyes or stomp her foot or both. Emmett was, in every way that really mattered, an uncle to her. But on ship she couldn't snap or snark like she would have at home. Instead, all she could do was place her hand against the pocket of her waistcoat. The paper tucked inside crinkled reassuringly through the smooth fabric. And, as though on cue, a voice from aloft signaled that land was now finally insight. The crew rushed to the bow of the ship, lining up along the gunnels for a glimpse of home. Emera and Emmett shared a look, one that spoke of expectation and frustration on both sides.

"Sounds like you have work to do." Emera said.

"Best you keep out from underfoot." He replied in the same dry, resigned tone.

She nodded and stepped down to the main deck, keeping out of his way as he passed. Looking out across the ship she was able to meet Lewis' uneasy gaze once more before he set to work alongside the others. A sense of purpose and precision hung in the salty air, now. Men from below were coming up to help. Emera had to press herself against the gunnel to keep from being trampled as they fell into step with the others. She watched, uselessly, as the crew made ready for the ship's landing.

Emera pressed her hand to her pocket again. She knew every word of the note by heart.

_Dearest Emera,_

_I will be in Nassau within the week (trusting that you get this in a timely manner.) There is a tavern there called the Mermaid's Song that I'm fond of. Its rather fitting, don't you think? Perhaps I shall see you there before very long. I've much to tell you. And I'd like your help with something._

_Yours ever,_   
  
_Captain J. Sparrow._

_P.S. What do you know of Masquerade Balls?_

Captain Jack Sparrow, that strange, extraordinary, ridiculous young man who had so easily fallen into Emera's life, was waiting for her. The last time she had seen Jack, he had been sailing away from her in a stolen boat with the hopes of finding a wonderous treasure. A Gem forged by a Mermaid that would protect who ever bore it from all harm while at sea. Perhaps he had found it. Or, at the very least, had discovered more information as to its whereabouts. He had already been on Nassau for quite some time according to the note. Would he still be there? Or had she missed her chance at seeing him again?

Emera chewed her lip, twisting her pendent necklace around her fingers as she carefully leaned out over the gunnel rail. The misty shape of Clearwater Bay loomed like a greenish smudge against the brilliant blue of the sea and sky. It wouldn't be long now.


	2. The Mermaid's Song

Emera dropped her sailor's bag with a heavy thud that filled the confines of her bedchamber. The space looked just as it had the day she'd left all those long months ago. Only someone had evidently been in to tidy it since then. The collection of driftwood and sea glass she kept on the sill of the large window was suspiciously dust-free. As were the little model ships which sat together on top of her stout wardrobe. Emera crossed to her bed where it stood shoved up against the far wall and plunked herself down on the stormy-blue coverlet. The evening sun was coming in through the window, playing against the whitewashed walls in shades of burnt orange until it glinted in the mirror above her dressing table. Emera pulled off her boots and tossed them carelessly to one side. Then she fell back upon her bed and let out a deep sigh.

She would have to move quickly if her plan was to work the way she hoped. But a level of weariness Emera hadn't known to be possible was settling itself into the roots of her bones. Laying there, she could feel the phantom rocking of the ship all through her body. It made her empty stomach churn with land-sickness. She tried not to think about it and her mind went adrift somewhere without her, lost as she stared up at the shadows playing between the beams of her ceiling. Coming into port had gone smoothly. So had disembarking the ship. But she and her father hadn't spoken to one another as they came up to the house. Nor had Emera exchanged more than a word or two in greeting with her step mother, Rosalia Marin, despite the fact that she had come down to meet them at the docks. And now the weight of it all was settling into the center of Emera's chest.

She closed her eyes and listened to the distant sounds rising up from the bay. _The Rose_ had been loaded up with the goods they'd plundered that spring. And now all that cargo was being brought ashore. It would keep most of the island, the crew and their families, busy even after sundown. Those stores were vital to the people of Clearwater for both their own supply as well as trade over the summer. The soft, far away calls and shouts of the people unloading the cargo were as familiar to Emera as the booming of the waves against the rocky shore just beyond her window. It was enough to nearly lull her to sleep.

But there was job to do.

With only the pure strength of her stubbornness, Emera managed to open her eyes and push herself up off of her comfortable bed. Groaning, she slid to the floor and dumped the stinking contents of her sailor's bag out in a pile. She rummaged through the mess, scattering sea shells as she shook out the skirts of her now grimy blue dress. A small book bound in pale grey linen and tied closed with a length of ribbon fell to the floor with a tiny thud. Picking it up, she gingerly opened the pages to where she had tucked a few delicate sprigs of lavender. Emera had fully expected them to be crushed to dust by now, but somehow they managed to survive all the long way from Port Royal. The book's pages even still smelt faintly of their light fragrance. Emera glanced at the words on the page and smiled a little to herself.

_By my innocence I swear, and by my youth,_   
_I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth,_   
_and that no woman has; nor never none_   
_shall mistress be of it, save I alone._

She took the battered and crumpled note from Jack out of her waistcoat pocket to smooth across her knee. Then, she tucked it between the same pages where the lavender was and shut the book gently and retied the ribbon. She wadded it up in a bundle of fresh clothes from her wardrobe before quickly shoving the lot into her sailor's bag with a few other things she would need. Climbing to her feet, she slung the bag over her shoulder and scooped up her boots where she had carelessly tossed them. Emera paused in the doorway for one optimistic minute, looking back at the window from over her shoulder. But she thought better of it. After all, there were only so many times a girl could fall on her bottom while trying to climb out a window.

Logically, she knew going through the house was ridiculously risky. Every creak and groaning sigh of the floor beneath her stocking feet very nearly made her heart stop. She crept along the right side of the back staircase, knowing that was where the steps would complain the least under her weight. As a child, she had made many a midnight excursion to the kitchen to pilfer cakes and custards. She couldn't help but smile to herself as that same sense of terrified excitement came over her again. When she came into the kitchen, Emera could hear Rosalia humming to herself from up the hall in the drawing room. The red-brick flooring here was worn smooth from constant use and Emera's feet nearly went out from under her twice as she hastily made for the service door.

The sound of her father's thunderous footsteps sent a thrill of panic down Emera's spine. She all but dove into the pantry so as not to be seen, feet sliding uselessly against the floor with the unbalanced lean of her land-sick gait. She thought her father had gone back down to the docks to help with the cargo. Her heart hammered in her chest as she listened, but the sound of his steps began to fall away again. Emera guessed that he was heading to his study, which lay down an adjacent hall quite near to the dining room. She let out her breath and scrambled back out of the pantry as silently as possible. Cutting sharply across the kitchen, she made it to the service door with a victorious smile on her face.

The air outside was thick and warm as the summer wind came up off the ocean. Emera stopped only long enough to pull her boots on. Then, she went pelting down the path that would lead her straight to north docks and freedom. A whirling thrill of wild joy shot through her chest as she ran. Her boots struck the soft earth in time to the pounding of her heart as she careened down the hill. If she followed this trail, she wouldn't have to cut through town. She could keep to the gully and come out on the beach just east of the docks. Like her cake-pilfering expeditions, Emera had also made this run more times than she could count. She remembered the exhilaration of having once escaped her governess when she was about thirteen-years-old in this very way. Her wickedly self-satisfied smile was probably just the same as it had been then.

This time, however, Emera actually made it to the north docks. There was no one in sight. A surge of confidence swept over her as she rushed down the wooden planks to where the little dinghy, _The Rosebud_ , sat tethered among the other modest boats used for fishing and making the crossing to Nassau. Readying to sail took far longer than Emera would have liked. The coursing river of excitement pouring through her veins caused her hands to tremble with uncontrolable jitters. Even just raising the main sail was a long and slow process. And all the while the great shape of Nassau waited patiently just a short distance across the open water.

The sun had sunk fully into the sea by the time Emera was ready to push off. She was just leaning out to unfasten the mooring line when the sound of footfalls and whistling came down from the end of the dock. Even with the bow lantern lit, it was too dark to see who it was. And the only distinguishable thing about the whistling was the cheerful tune of All for Me Grog. Emera swore under her breath and pulled hard on the mooring line, franticly gathering it up as the boat began to drift away from the dock.

There was a shout behind her as the wind caught the sails, but Emera couldn't make out the words that chased her out across the open water. Besides, she was too concerned with the tension on her sail and the angle of her rudder to pay much mind to senseless yelling. The unintelligible voice most likely belonged to the dock master. And that most likely meant that she was being told to stop whatever it was she thought she was doing. But Emera had a schedule to keep that didn't a lot for explanations that would only land her in more trouble. It was far too late to turn back now, anyway. Glancing briefly over her shoulder, Emera could see that the wind had opened up an expanse of water between _The Rosebud_ and the docks.

Ahead, the lights of Nassau Town burned orange against the silver flecked and blue-black void of sea and sky. The amber blur was soft and inviting across the dark of the water. Emera had made this crossing more times than she could count. Growing up, she was forever darting between Clearwater Bay and Nassau on trips with her father or Rosalia or her Governess or Emmett. But she had never sailed the crossing at night before. The water was calm enough, resting in the narrow channel between the two islands. And the wind was good. Sea spray came up over the prow in salty blasts as Emera cut along towards the glowing beacon of the town. She could not help but think of another late night sail she had taken without leave. The salt on her lips as water broke upon the little boat tasted of the same freedom it had then.

The docks of Nassau appeared before her soon enough and Emera brought _The Rosebud_ into rest along the other boats moored there. If _The Jolly Mon_ was somewhere among them, Emera didn't see it. Crouching on the sea soaked planks, she tied off her boat with a confident knot. Almost at once, the dock mistress was at Emera's side to take her information down in a hefty book along with a fee of one shilling to tie up the boat. Emera complied, answering every question put to her as she scrounged around in her pockets for the money. Only when the dock mistress was satisfied that all was right and proper was Emera allowed to take her leave. She slung her sailor's bag over her shoulder and set off up the stretch of dock into town.

Nassau was by no means a quite place. Despite the hour, people wandered up and down the rough dirt and cobble streets, coming in and out of doorways as they pleased. Talk and laughter and music filled the air as Emera wound her way along the rows of squat buildings. She knew the town well enough, but it had been a long time since her last visit and things had changed since then. That was the thing about Nassau, it was always changing. Its very existence was fluid in nature. Like home, it depended on what goods were brought in and what profit was made. But unlike home, Nassau was subject to the political turmoil of the Captains who came and went as they pleased. Nassau was a Pirate Town through and through.

It probably wouldn't have been difficult to hunt down the tavern herself. But Emera didn't have all night to wander up and down every streets until she found the right building. Still in the lower town, she dashed across the road to where a young woman with vibrant red hair stood working on the corner.

"Buy me a drink, sailor?" She asked with a smile.

"I'm just looking for directions, actually." Emera said, "The Mermaid's Song. Do you know it?"

"Of course." The young woman shrugged, jutting her thumb over her shoulder, "It's up the hill, down the end of the high street. Its got lots of windows so's you can't miss it."

"Ta." Emera gave her a nod and rushed off in the direction the woman had indicated.

True to description, the building was indeed hard to miss. The whole front face was lined with a long bank of windows shot through with black muntins. Warm candlelight spilt out onto the street in flickering fractals, carrying with it the sounds of cheerful voices from within. The plaster walls had been done in a sort of dark, greenish-blue colour that stood out distinctly against the other buildings along the block. Emera stood looking up at a faded old tavern sign. At one point it had been elaborately painted in shades of golds and sea greens. The image of a mermaid lounging on her back had been painted with skillful hands, her tail raised so that its curve created the smooth edge of the hanging sign. And below her, as though she were resting atop them, fantastically delicate letters of faded gold spelt out The Mermaid's Song.

A flutter of feeling danced up through Emera's chest, a surge of excitement and nerves that mixed together in a heady slew. Her heart beat against her ribs impatiently as she stood there. Either blissful relief or crushing disappointment waited for her on the other side of the solid wooden doors. She tried to peer through the windows in the hopes of finding out which it would be, but the glass was too distorted to show her anything other than the dark shapes of figures within. Gathering up her courage, she pushed open the tavern doors and stepped inside.

The thick scent of alcohol and food came over her in a rich gale. Emera's stomach panged in a way that reminded her sharply that it was rather empty. But she ignored it and pressed on through the deep scent of spiced meats and hot bread. The bar sat along the back wall, quite close to the doors so that the woman there could flash welcoming smiles at all those who entered. Her reflection was caught in the long, narrow mirror behind her. Its pockmarked surface picked up the candlelight and threw it back out in a way that made the room feel brighter. To the left of the bar was an alcove with stairs leading up and out of sight. To the right, the low ceilinged space was home to sturdy tables and chairs for dining.

The far wall, adjacent to the bank of windows, had been painted fully in a mural. The same mermaid lounging across the sign out front sat perched on the top of a large clamshell, her underwater world swirling in deep shades of greenish-blue all around her. She looked off over one pale blue shoulder as she pulled an opal comb through her length of dark, seaweed-green hair. The silver shine of her tail wrapped around the curve of the shell in a graceful arch that swept her delicately translucent fins up and out to one side. It was hauntingly life-like. Emera fully expected the mermaid to cast her soft, almost bored jet gaze about the room at any moment. There was a strange, familiarity and sadness about the painting. But Emera could not pin down what it was that made her feel that way.

It took effort to look away from the mermaid in order to take note of the other people in the room. She had only been dully aware that there was anyone else present as she studied the mural. But now she paid attention. Almost every table was full and several had been pushed together to accommodate large, laughing groups. People sat, talking and eating and drinking in amiable comradery while a few others moved casually about the room. It wasn't a raucous or rowdy scene, but rather one of cheerful companionship.

When Emera finally saw him, she couldn't help the wide grin that spread across her face. Jack Sparrow was sitting by himself at a far table, his chair angled against the wall so that he could see the whole of the room around him. Arms crossed over his chest, he leaned back a little as his sharp, dark eyes swept over the lines of the space again and again. He was just as she remembered him. Although, he had perhaps grown a little more handsome since she had seen him last. But she hastily shoved this thought away. Emera caught his eye as he gazed about the room again and he returned her broad smile with a glint of expectant playfulness in his eyes. He watched her every move as she cut across the room to where he sat.

Beaming up at her, Jack said, "Well, took you long enough. I've been waiting for ages."


End file.
